


Sweet Hot Tea Porn

by nonnie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-13
Updated: 2010-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:05:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonnie/pseuds/nonnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recollections of a sweet hot adolescence. Set at the beginning of s6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Hot Tea Porn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Post #34](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Post+%2334).



Texas hit them like a hurricane. It had the dry quality of kindling and, fifty miles past the border, strip mall upon strip mall started showing up, divided on all sides by a year's worth of nothing.

"Leavin' Oklahoma behind," Dean whistled, checking his rear view for anything. All he saw were high grasses and one cloud, and his brother safe in the seat beside him. He shot a glance over, to where Sam looked blank. "I haven't been traveling much, if you remember."

"I'm not going to apologize," was all Sam said.

"Okay," Dean drew out.

The car rushed on. He thought idly that he would have maybe been the type to drive twenty miles over the speed limit if it weren't for the arsenal they'd kept in the trunk. Now that he pretty much lived the suburban life, he had to watch for kids in Barbie cars and cats.

Dean imagined once again the days after his brother had jumped into the cage. The months, how he had gone through more whiskey than he cared to think about and thanked god for every hangover so he wouldn't have to think. And now, this. Hell, he still felt like Sam was down there somewhere.

"Austin in a few hours," he said, over the lull of some eighties power ballad that had somehow edged its way onto the radio.

"Let's stop in Temple," Sam said, abrupt. Nearly the most he'd said all drive. Dean frowned.

"We gotta be in Austin by tonight," Dean reminded him. Sam had gotten a tip from Samuel just after Cas had disappeared. Time to unwind on a systematic, if gruesome, job, while heaven was in tumult above. Dean peered out at the expanse of blue out the windshield, as if he could somehow espy some sign of the upset.

Sam carried on. "Just because Temple's a bit run-down-"

"You know, Sam," Dean said. "I'm glad you're talking. I am. But of all the things to be yourself about, why do you gotta stand up for that city?"

"I just like it, that's all," Sam said. He watched the side of the road for a few moments, but at some point not too long later, he gave Dean some sidelong glance that used to mean he was waiting for a flash of recognition. "Good memories."

"Hmph," Dean said.

All he could remember from when they'd lived there was scuffling around in a garage part-time, making crap wages, and playing football with Sam the rest, the two knocking each other in the dirt harder than was necessary and then being sore when Dad woke them for the 6am run, bruises blooming purpled.

But when they started seeing signs for Temple in 5 miles, Next 2 exits: Temple, Dean sighed and drifted the Impala towards the exit and Sam didn't say a thing, he just slouched against the window, and looked out of it, watching the beginnings of the town, some middling body of water glittering just at the edge of the straight expanse of field beyond.

The building were nice, small.

"I don't know where we even-"

"River and C," Sam said. "Remember? It was the one room place with the fridge that didn't really work."

"Alright, buddy," Dean said. He blinked, emotionless over the vague memory of a ratty apartment. "Lunch?"

In the diner that afternoon, Sam grunted, "Burger," and Dean widened his eyes, saying "Sam," and then smiled up at the waitress like, don't mind him, he's only five.

"What?" Sam asked.

Dean kicked him under the table, just like old times. Unlike old times, however, Sam didn't kick back.

"Since when are you eating red meat?" Dean tried.

"Things change," Sam said.

 

Dean looked across the table, to where his brother had sat a million times before, and caught Sam's gaze, and raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"I'm glad you're back," Dean tried, over the clinking of silverware from nearby customers.

Sam just rolled his eyes, but his mouth twitched up at one side. And Dean thought, yep, different but the same.

After they'd paid on separate cards, Dean ordered a large sweet tea to go, even though it was hotter than hell in the outskirts of Austin, the kind of heat where once you stepped out the doors it felt like the moisture in the air had been replaced with sand, and your breath came out humid like the only dampness for miles.

"Sweet tea, that's what I'm talkin about," he muttered, lipping the rim of the plastic mug and breathing in the steam.

Sam was past him and waiting at the passenger side, bitch face set to go. Dean stood at the curb and waited to sip his tea. He watched the tic at Sam's jaw.

"Man, you have got to loosen up."

"We should get going."

Dean went to the car.

"You're the one who wanted to stop here." He rapped on the hot roof once, and smiled over at Sam, grinding out that annoying grin which always seemed to press some buttons. Sam looked long-sufferingly at him for a moment and then away, sighing.

"Miss your ride?"

"I miss my goddamn music."

"Still listen to music, then?"

"Get in the car, Dean."

"Good to know, that's all I'm saying." He strapped himself in, because he'd promised Ben a few months ago and you can't just rescind like that, even when the kid's not around. Kids can sense it, when you're being genuine. He began to drive. "A lot has changed, and you've gone all Spock on me, so I've got to figure this thing out for myself."

"Turn here," Sam said. Dean did it on reflex and kept on.

"Right." The car coasted down a few side streets that were scorching in the afternoon light so that no one was out and the trash cans sat stagnant.

"You remember me fine," Sam said. "Nothing really has changed."

"I'm sorry Sam but you were only down there for, what, a week? A day?"

"I told you, I don't remember any of it," Sam said.

"Yeah, well I'm having trouble remembering life before it," Dean muttered. "You keep saying your the same, and I keep wondering whether or not you're right."

They drove on. Sam directed them to a park, and Dean didn't want to get out of the car, into the heat, he really didn't. He hated parks now because they were the site of post-failure discussions with Angels, and moms who mistook him for a lounging paedophile.

"We're not going to the park," Sam told him. Dean looked across the street and saw with a sort of double vision that that was their building, that run-down thing.

"Economy's hit pretty hard here," he noted. "Looks empty."

"Windows are broken," Sam said. He unstrapped his seat belt. "Come on."

What the hell, right?

Dean followed him out into the road, and to the concrete steps, and followed the cool metal railing up a flight and then another, the park more visible as they rose a level, and the air just as hot out here, even this far from the pavement. When they got to a familiar door, which was yellowed and peeling of its paint, it was clear that no one lived in this complex. Maybe a few squatters. Sam jiggled at the handle, and didn't so much as need to get out his lockpicks as run a card down the strip of the door for it to snap open.

"Breaking into our own home," Dean said. He went inside.

The inside wasn't as bad as the door, and although the windows at the far were broken through, it seemed recent. There was a warm smell, the smell of used carpet, but that was about it.

"Looks like someone took most of the furniture," Sam said.

Sam walked into the living room and stood in the halfshade. Dean, feeling an urge to pass him up, made it to the window, past the cupboards that hung open at angles and the remnants of a radio.

"Don't remember this at all, really," Dean muttered. He gripped the window frame, high up, and leaned out so he could see. The impala below shone like a fixed point around which the rest of the world, the yellow-green park and the street, settled.

"Sure you do," Sam said. He pointed to the tile wall. "That's where the fridge used to be, where we kept about five gallons of milk and not a whole lot else."

"Practically lived on McDonalds," Dean reminded himself without meaning to.

Sam walked further, and nodded to a table.

"Where I used to do my homework," he said.

Hours of it, and for what, Dean wanted to say. But Stanford was as much a part of Sam as the rest of it was, even if this is what Sam had become. He didn't want to take one more thing away just because he was feeling bitter.

"Guess that was our room," he said instead, glancing over at the only other door in the room.

"We were only here for a few months, and Dad always took the couch when he was back," Sam agreed.

Dean wanted Sam to stop, stop standing there, like some Jesus on steroids invoking visions of himself when he was young, Sam when he was small, the idea twanging at the strings in Dean's chest. There was part of him who had been so damned scared to have Sam back, a whole year of trying to reconcile living a life of missing him, a half-life, and then to have him here, himself but not. It was too much.

"You said you wanted your brother back," Sam said, like he could glean meaning from Dean's face.

Dean looked at him askance, and Sam came forward, until he was standing at the window as well. Dean considered the tightness of his brother's face, and the calm waiting, and then felt the edging of some realization.

"This is you, trying."

Sam shrugged. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm here. It's not easy."

When Sam stepped forward that extra half-step, Dean thought that maybe they were going to have one of those talks, the ones where Sam told him to open up to him, let out some of his feelings, but then Dean realized they weren't there any more, were miles past it in fact. Sure, it looked the same, Sam tall and in jeans and rolled-flannel, close enough to touch, but there was something off.

Sure enough, Sam had to take that extra half-step past the one before, and Dean stiffened where he stood, lower back pressed firm against the window molding, but didn't budge.

"You mind telling me what's going on?" Dean ventured. His hand had gone unconciously to Sam's shoulder, right on that giant bicep, because he always did feel better when he knew his brother was there and safe, especially now, when all he wanted to do was verify that he wasn't dreaming, or under the curse of some djinn.

He looked up, a few inches, neck uncomfortably bared. His other arm hurt from where it was exposed to the sunlight. Sam seemed to be considering him.

He began to push Sam away slightly.

"Sammy, it's kind of hot in here, if you didn't notice, and you've always been a freaking furnace."

It's true, he felt a cool sweat breaking out right at his collar, but he stopped talking when Sam cupped the side of Dean's face in a large hand, swiping the thumb slowly over Dean's chapped lips.

Dean closed his mouth, which had been parted mid-sentence, but it was more like a kiss than anything, that purse of lips against the pad of Sam's thumb. Dean wanted to take it back instantly, but knew with certain lucidity that that had sealed something, something he might have considered before finding himself here, crowded against the window frame in the apartment they hadn't inhabited for nearly a decade. He almost expected their dad to burst his way in, scenting trouble.

Crickets zazzed with an unsettling back-and-forth buzzing, loud from the park somehow, and Sam's thumb gently forced entry between Dean's lips. Dean gasped wide in surprise, inhaling that same smell of old apartment and sunshine, breaking some sort of tension, but he didn't have long to breathe, because Sam dipped his head immediately that little bit, to kiss hotly over his thumb and Dean's mouth, tongue licking in like warmth, pressing Dean's tongue and bottom lip as a second thought.

Dean started, jumping a little at one leg and hitting back against the window frame again, hearing a high crunch of his palm against some scattered glass with an instinctual grab. He rubbed the glass dust off his hand on his shirt between them, knuckles dragging against Sam's middle in the process because he was standing too close.

"What was that?" Dean finally said, blinking a bit and not looking up because he knew what it was, and trying his best not to look inward either, where some sort of ache had started just below the ribs and was making its way up to his throat.

Sam dipped his head again and caught Dean's lips in an easy kiss, Dean sucking in a breath once more at the parting, and bringing his other hand up to Sam's shoulder where it could grip at the fabric.

Sam kissed him against the molding like it was forever, a hot press of tongue and spit, like they were the only two people alive in this entire town, certainly this apartment, like they weren't anywhere so this was alright. Dean let him and he let him, and he tried to worry about it, and when he didn't, he considered rather distantly that he must be in shock.

Despite what was going on, he couldn't kick the feeling that this was the most like his brother that Sam had ever been in years, since before the existence of angels, and before worrying about the Apocalypse, back when they used to concern themselves with scary motherfuckers within reason with black eyes and no god behind them, no the devil. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to shut down, to go away again.

Through the haze that was definitely a mixing of killer heat, the stuffiness of the apartment and the searing of the window, and the press of Sam's hard body against his own, pressing against him in some manner that wasn't forceful, but wasn't gentle either, maybe just a play of intent, through this haze Dean noted that his entire body had begun to sweat.

"Think I'm in shock," Dean managed somehow around Sam's tongue, against Sam's lips, because he should be stopping this.

"What?" Sam said. He pulled back, and Dean noted that Sam's huge hand had slid between his lower back and the frame, holding Dean in place and protecting him from the jut of the molding.

Dean clenched his jaw and finally looked into Sam's eyes, both of them breathing slow but shallow.

"I should be stopping this," Dean said.

"Why?"

"I'm your older brother-" Sam's eyes were dark and liquid and Dean's laugh was semi-hysterical, but Sam calmed it with one, closed-mouthed kiss.

"Hey," Sam said, still unlike himself but the same, so serious but so close, and bent to nose Dean's jaw, tilting Dean's hips closer with that hand behind him. Dean rested his head back, as far as it could go, eyelids fluttering closed.

"Oh, Sammy," Dean sighed. "They brought you back wrong."

"Can you shut up about Hell for a minute," Sam murmured against his ear. And since when did Sam murmur? Dean had heard it a million times, when his brother fell asleep against his shoulder, murmurs reverberating up his arm, or against the arm of the couch with his feet in Dean's lap despite the preceeding battle where Dean made the fair point that Sam shouldn't get to stretch out, that there was a line down the middle and they each had their side.

Dean rolled his hips forward, more of a stretch because they'd been standing here, still, for quite some time. Sam angled his own lower body towards Dean, a slow grind that brought Dean to the present, to note that his hands, those he was holding up against Sam's chest so that he could push him away but just hadn't had real reason to yet, they were resting there, fingers grasping at fabric.

He tensed his muscles, and made to push at Sam.

"If you don't-"

Sam hummed a bit as Dean pressed his chest, and basically swept Dean into a giant hug that included as a sort of bonus, a lick up the side of Dean's neck, ending in a nip at the earlobe and Dean went slack right there and just moaned.

"Not gonna fight this?" Sam asked.

"Not gonna talk about it, that's what," Dean said, trying to shut out his own mind, but more because it was saying yes rather than no. It wasn't surprised at all and he felt the stirrings of some sort of rage, at once betrayed and at home.

"That's more like it," Sam said, and did that humming thing again and moved one hand back to Dean's lower back, which was just obscenely comfortable and Dean hadn't felt this good for at least a year, maybe more. He thought maybe he deserved that.

Maybe Sam being away had unhinged him, but him being back was apparently driving him crazy.

Dean unbuttoned each of Sam's shirts, slow like and kept flicking looks at Sam as he did, kept getting kissed every time he did, too. He'd missed this. Not that he made it a habit of kissing his brother, but the closeness part. There was no way that was ever being mentioned, because new Sam would probably smile slow and do who knows what with the information, and old Sam would have never let him live it down, and smiled large and with an abandon that might get the kid killed one day, that feeling too much and being so easy to read, made Dean wanna wrap him in his jacket and carry an extra gun or two.

That's what it came down to, he missed wanting to take care of someone who could probably take care of himself. He missed undressing Sam when he was too hurt to do it himself, missed speaking without words, however they did it. Like they were doing now, but different.

With Lisa he had learned to explain himself, not well but he did it. He had learned what it was like to spend time with someone who didn't know him, to try to build up to the point that Sam had been at all along. It was like he had been trying to work himself up to this, but backwards, sex first. It was just two ways of going about the same thing.

"A little sex and maybe you can chill the fuck out," Dean said, and saying it out loud made him instantly hard, and Sam too, he could tell.

"You're the one being a dick," Sam said.

"There are so many things I could say to that," Dean said, trying to level Sam with a look, but getting lost at his mouth, his inner self doing a little punch of victory, that Sam had been snarky at him, in that familiar, ineloquent way.

After a moment, where Sam shrugged his shirt off his shoulders and grabbed at the bottom of his t-shirt to pull it off as well, laughing so quietly Dean could barely make it out for what it was but for the breath against his mouth between kisses, Dean promised: "And I'm going to, but-"

"Not now," Sam agreed. And even though Dean knew logically that they were undressing each other, that he had just verbalized a plan to fuck his brother, it felt like they were making progress rather than stepping out into no man's land, like they were working towards something they had lost, finally, together.

Sam tugged off Dean's jacket in that familiar way that made Dean's stomach drop out, he wished he hadn't eaten at all today because he literally felt like he was going to hurl with some sort of unnamed, physical emotion, that emotion probably being incest.

Sam pulled at the bottom of Dean's shirt in a way that was one part impatient and one just bratty, and it was gone before Dean knew it, and then he was walking taking the initiative to walk Sam back across the musty room, and Sam said, "you think I'm going to get on whatever bed's in there, you're wrong."

"The couch."

He collapsed them back, and Sam said, "Dude, gross, someone probably died on this couch." But he was tugging at Dean's legs, forcing Dean onto the sofa cushions, legs on either side so that he was sitting astride Sam's own legs, Sam's hands moving to run up the sensitive skin of his abdomen and up to pull his head down for an open-mouthed kiss that was the opposite of everything bad Dean had seen in the world.

If this had happened before, Dean would probably have had a thousand things swimming in his head right about now, and he would try to force them back but he probably would have thought the job or maybe what would Bobby think, but just about now Dean was in the headspace where he had seen what was important to him, finally, even after years of saying it, had really known it for sure, and with that thought he fumbled at the button of Sam's jeans, muttering, "Leave it to you to wear the ones with four buttons down the front, you idiot," and Sam said, "Dude, these are yours, remember?"

When he got Sam's pants open he gripped him tight, Sam's dick huge and hard in Dean's left hand, because Dean somehow had the other hand at the side of Sam's neck, his knees bracketing Sam's hips as he leaned his forehead against Sam's to look down between them.

He'd seen it before, of course, felt entitled to examine Sam closely at any point, even when Sam walked out of the shower naked because Dean had used both motel towels, one for the blood from the hunt, one to actually dry himself off. He remembered trailing his gaze over Sam, thinking a hundred thoughts, most of them impressed, at how much his brother had grown, how he had turned into some sort of action-hero without Dean noticing it, had bulked out in the few years since he'd wrested Sam from the gentle throes of academia.

"Six fucking years, Sam," he said, as he panted wetly into Sam's mouth, and finally tore his eyes away from where he was jacking Sam's dick, both calmly and with purpose.

"What?" Sam fucked into Dean with his tongue, shuddering with every stroke, so it took a moment for Dean to respond.

"That's all it's been," Dean said. "Since I came and got you-"

Sam tugged Dean's pants down around his knees with both large hands while Dean stroked him in smooth movements. The exposure to the air made no difference, really, it was so damn hot in here.

This felt more real than anything with Lisa, almost like he was being taken back to when he would bring girls back to their motels. It seemed more real maybe, because this time he was stone sober, in an apartment he used to inhabit, where he used to return to after rebuilding an engine from scratch and where he had tried to build up his brother into the type of person Dean would never be. For the first time he felt completely there, all of him.

"So glad you did Dean, Christ," Sam said. Dean had been commenting on how much things could of gotten fucked up in that time, how much Sam had changed, so at the sound of relief in Sam's voice, he felt a well of warmth, surprise. He twisted his fist in a long motion while Sam gasped out: "So fucking glad."

Sam grabbed him behind both thighs, which were already spread, wide, Dean's dick sprung straight up and red, he knew, and Sam used the grasp to pull him closer so that Dean's arm was at an even more awkward angle between them, his own dick rubbing against his arm and Sam's face hard up against his neck now, Sam's hands rubbing up the sweep of his thighs and ass, then back down again. The friction was ridiculous and maddening.

"Do something, you giant-" But then Sam grabbed him and fingered his hole simultaneously, rough, and Dean had been relaxing there, not paying attention, not realizing that a finger up his ass had been an option, so before he had had a chance to tense up one of Sam's long fingers was in up to the second knuckle.

"Jesusfuckingchrist," was all he managed out.

He leaned forward more fully, glad that Sam had rucked him forward just before because there was no way he could support himself on his own. In seconds he was moaning, the clarity gone, only room enough for a slight hitch of breath as Sam slicked his dick again and again in one hand, muttering something against Dean's shoulder with teeth, and Dean ground himself forward to escape Sam's hand which was trying to spread him without any sort of moisture.

"I don't- I don't think-" he whined out, unsure, and some baser part of him was ready for Sam to make fun of his obvious embarrassment, was ready with a comeback ("Your face is embarrassing") but the comment never came. Instead Sam moved the hand that had been stroking him up to Dean's mouth, and Dean had no idea what to do other than take a few fingers, and recommence his attentions, his arm smarting at the awkward angle.

"You are so tight," Sam said, finally coherent.

"Yeah, that's my ass you're fingering," Dean growled around Sam's fingers, licking them one final time and then moving in for another kiss.

They didn't have long. Dean was usually able to ride it out with the best of them, but this was too present, too real, the slick of Sam's hand against him and the fingers up his ass probably made a difference.

He came all over Sam's chest.

"Thanks for that," Sam breathed.

"Bitch, I own you," Dean said, only partially joking. "I can come all over you if I want."

Sam took a while longer, and Dean felt like he was falling apart in Sam's lap, slack with orgasm and Sam's hand still moving inside of him.

Afterward, he didn't move for a long time, collapsed forward as he was in a position that was horribly uncomfortable if he thought about it. His hips ached. His arm ached. Sam breathed in deep against his neck, and great, now his heart ached.

Dean got up, legs shaking, sweat all the way down in his shoes, between his toes. He yanked up his jeans, zipped them and belted with a few hasty movements, while Sam lounged, blissed out, legs splayed before him with his pants still open. Dean looked down at him, at the red marks that were appearing on Sam's tanned chest, and then sat back down heavily onto the couch, feeling tired and exposed, thinking this is a conversation he never thought he would be having with brother, but also full brimward with some panicked happiness.

He didn't exactly curl up on the couch, but it was a close thing.

"Isn't this something we were supposed to do when we were thirteen and exploring," he said once he could talk again, cheek stuck against the sweaty leather of the cushion.

Sam felt the need to dig the hole deeper, like he always did.

"When you were thirteen, I was just-"

"Sam," Dean barked. He held up a hand. "Just..don't say it, okay?"

Sam lolled his head sideways on the couch back to look Dean over, very little humor written on his face.

"I lasted a year, you know."

"What?"

"I lasted," Sam repeated. "I didn't come to find you until a few weeks ago. You know how long a wait that was? If that's trying, I don't know what is."

"You had to come," Dean pointed out. "There was a Djinn."

This was too normal. This talking about a case, he and Sam and all of their history, and now sex had been added into the mix. He wondered when the other shoe would drop.

"And why do you think we were keeping such close watch on the area in the first place?" Sam asked.

Dean thought about this for awhile. This wasn't something he had considered, had taken it at face value when Sam had told him he'd left him alone, and finally came to the conclusion that Sam could have saved him a lot of grief.

"Well aren't you a pack of truths," Dean said. "You told me to go back to her, Sammy."

"I told you to go back to her because I wanted to you get your life back."

"Back? What life is that exactly?" You're my life, he would have said, if it didn't suddenly sound gay as all hell.

"The life you always shoulda have," Sam said, and Sam's running both hands over his face was so familiar Dean had to close his eyes. He was tired, anyway. "Wanted you to have the apple pie. It was symbolic, Dean."

"Well, I now that I've eaten some pie," Dean said, and Sam looked over at him, up and down, and said, "I can see that." and Dean said, "if there was a pillow on this couch I would smother you."

"Seriously," Sam said. He smiled over at him, for the first time in God knows how long, because today was a day of firsts.

"Really though, is this why you wanted to come to Temple?" Dean asked. "So we could desecrate the family home?"

Sam huffed, and looked off toward the far wall where the paint was cracked.

"A lot of memories here, man," Sam said. He looked at Dean. "And I'm starting to think you really never did know."

Dean met Sam's searching expression with one of his own.

"That was the start of-" Sam said, then flopped his head back against the couch. "Hell. That time in the drive-thru. If you don't get it now you probably never did."

"Drive-thru?" Dean prompted.

"The sweet tea, Dean. Thought you bought it today to piss me off, make fun of me."

"What are you even talking about?"

"The time when you picked me up from school because I'd punched a kid," Sam said. He seemed less sleepy now, and began doing up his pants, and then turned on the couch, shoving a foot under Dean's leg and Dean only rolled his eyes and shifted to allow the invasion of space so that they'd both be comfortable.

"Oh yeah, I had to pick you up at the office and they almost didn't let you go with me," he said. "One of the only times you got into a fight, too. Such good self-control, pretty impressive."

Sam wiped a hand in the mess on his chest. Dean wanted to lick his mouth again.

"At least one of us has it," he said. Dean kicked him in the ankle.

"What then?"

"You got tea for the first time, that ridiculous jug of it, almost," Sam said. "Spilled it all over yourself as we drove back here? Ringing any bells?"

Dean frowned and remembered it now. It was filmy, the image from years ago, but clear enough because he was touching Sam's ankle. It was like the proximity was aiding in recall, easier together.

They were at the McDonalds drive-thru, he remembered it like a shifting thing, how it was the first time he'd gone and gotten that 40oz plastic mug of sweet tea.

"One dollar?!" Sam had shouted over him, unstrapping his seat belt and putting a hand hard down on Dean's thigh to hold himself up so that the lady in the speaker could hear him through Dean's window.

"One dollar, that's right," the woman said. Dean shoved at Sam's face, full palmed, getting an elbow for his trouble, and said, "Sam, we don't question the nice lady on things like one dollar sweet tea. You got that?"

In Dean's memory, Sam sighed and rolled his eyes and made a pursed lip face and everything else to possibly denote fine and alright, leave me alone already and Dean had continued to sweet talk the intercom just because he could. When he'd finally put the car in Drive, he smirked and Sam said, "I told you I wanted a sprite."

"We only got enough money for one drink, and I'm the oldest, so it's going to be tea," Dean said, ringing it off like it was nothing while Sam sprawled out all lazy-limbs on the seat beside him. Dean had thought about Sam sprawled out all the fucking time back then.

The bottom of the drink had burned like sweet heaven where he rested it against his leg, he'd felt the warmth of it through the scratchy layer of jeans.

He remembered how Sam used to eat crappy burgers along with him, because they didn't have much choice. Sam had laughed and laughed when Dean had swerved around a corner, smooth as you please, but sloshed tea anyway all over the front of himself. Sam only stopped laughing when Dean had stripped off the shirt and thrown it wetly at him. He had sobered quickly.

Dean felt him staring the entire way but had been too annoyed to offer him any, sipping at the straw, sweating because the sun was glaring over the dash onto his bare chest. Sam had looked and looked, until they were walking up the apartment steps, and Dean had finally said with impatience, "Jesus Sam, just ask if you want it."

"Alright," Sam had said, quickly like he'd been waiting for the offer, voice just a croak because Texas was so arid in the summer months. "I want it."

Dean put his free hand in Sam's jean's pocket, Sam moving forward immediately, and then Dean got hold of the keys, pulled them loose, and handed Sam the tea.

Handed him...the tea. Oh.

Sam overshot, gripping Dean by the arm that had just left his pocket, and it was only when it was just the two of them that Dean's reflexes, so honed by hunting and bar fights, failed him. When it was him and Sam, like now in the hot shadow of the apartment, he took his reflexes sometimes and put them in a box on a shelf. So when Sam grabbed at his arm, Dean started a bit, and when Sam leaned towards him so suddenly, Dean jumped a step back.

"Augh, it's hot!" Sam said, but didn't drop the giant mug completely, because who can just drop a cup of liquid, people usually just hold it and dance a little, tea running down an arm, and onto their sneakers.

"Your fault," pointed out, nonplussed.

Leaving Sam in the doorway, he said, rather than just thought, "Sam, you suck." and went inside to find a towel so that the walk wouldn't be wet if dad got home.


End file.
